But why was Luke still covering up?
Ryan shrugged off Luke’s grip. “The lies didn’t work. So why are you protecting Stefano?”
“I’m not protecting Jerry,” Luke said insistently, pointing to the door, waving wildly beyond. “I’m protecting my family—my wife and kids—from Stefano’s friends on the outside. His friends protected him, Ryan. That’s what a Royal Sinner does. The goddamn ink on their arms says that. Protect Our Own. He has friends who have been looking out for his interests, and I am not about to serve up any more details on him and have those friends come after my family now.” Luke rubbed a hand across his jaw, glanced away, then turned his gaze back to Ryan. His eyes were softer now. “Look, I made some mistakes when I was a younger man. I made some terrible mistakes. I left town to start fresh after Dora was gone. Moved to San Diego and met my wife there. We returned to Vegas five years ago. My job now is to protect my family, and Jerry Stefano is not a man to be messed with, so I never talked then and I don’t intend to now. He told us to never say a word, so I didn’t. He made it clear the people we loved would get hurt. That’s why your mother kept it quiet, and that’s why I did, too. I love too many people to take that chance.”
Ryan sighed heavily, a long, deep, frustrated sound filled with years of regret, years of anger, years of locking up all these awful secrets.
There wasn’t much else to say, so Ryan thanked him and headed to the front door. On the way, he spotted a framed wedding photo of Luke and his wife. The man didn’t look much younger than he did today. “How long have you been married?”
Luke glanced sheepishly at the floor. “Only a year. But we’ve been together for seventeen. Anyway, don’t tell the church I had kids out of wedlock.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Ryan said, wishing it was the only secret he shared with that man.
As he headed for his truck, a fresh wave of loathing rolled through him. He was in a pact with the man who’d fucked his mother behind his father’s back.
That was all kinds of messed up.
The one bright spot was the email on his phone from Sophie.
* * *
Red. Ripe. Juicy.
The peaches looked mouthwateringly good.
“One pound of peaches coming right up.”
“Thank you, Marietta,” Sophie said, flashing a bright smile at her favorite employee at her father’s former fruit stand at the farmer’s market.
“You will love these. They’re divine. My God, they melt in your mouth—and in a peach pie,” Marietta said, bringing her big fingers to her lips and pressing a kiss to them before setting to work bagging up Sophie’s fruit.
“Nothing is ever as good as a pie with summer peaches kissed by the sun,” Sophie said as she pushed her big, white sunglasses on top of her hair.
“How’s John doing?”
“You know John. He’s as busy as ever. Work, work, work. And he has these dang termites, so he’s been staying at my place. Talk about cramping my style,” Sophie said, in a faux whisper. “But he’ll be gone tomorrow night. So I think…” She trailed off to tap her nails against the red-checkered cloth that covered the table with baskets of peaches, cherries, plums, and all sorts of summer fruit. “I think I might invite over this man who I’ve been seeing.”
Marietta wiggled her thick black eyebrows as she wiped a hand across her apron. “You know that’s how your mom wooed your dad,” she said, winking.
“Oh, stop.”
The woman nodded enthusiastically. “It’s true. She lured him with the pineapple.”
“How many times did my parents tell you that story?”
“Countless,” she said with a laugh then tapped the counter. “This stand has some sort of magic to it. I met my husband here, too, and we’re going on twenty-five years.”
“The magic of fruit,” Sophie quipped, then stopped for a second to gaze heavenward. “You know, maybe that’s why I have so many dresses with fruit patterns.”
“You’re trying to attract love,” Marietta said. “Draw it to you. I think that’s brave and hopeful. Do you want a pineapple? For an offering?”
“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”
Marietta shook her head. “Nothing is ever crazy when it involves love. Go,” she said, gesturing to the back of the sprawling white stand with the red stripes on the awning. Her dad had operated this fruit stand for many years, and Marietta had taken it over when her parents had died within mere months of each other.
In love until the day they’d died. Her mother had said it was because they followed the simple rules of love.
“Always talk. Always be honest. Never go to bed angry. Make time for kisses and meals, dance under the stars, and dream together.”
That was her mother’s advice to her, shared on many nights, especially on the ones where Sophie would peek around the corner to watch her parents dance with the lights drawn low. They were so in love that they’d become the very definition of it to her.
“I miss them,” she said, choking up as the images swirled faster in her mind.
“Of course you do. So go. Leave a pineapple at the kissing tree. As an offering.”
“Okay,” Sophie said conspiratorially, then walked behind the stand and placed the spiky fruit on the ground by the tree where her parents had their first kiss. It was so silly. But her parents had everything, and their everything was all Sophie ever knew and all she wanted.
She thought she’d had that with Holden. But the big difference was that her parents had both love and passion. They held hands, they sneaked kisses, and they took care of her and John together.
A lump rose in her throat, burning her with the sting of memories.
But at least the memories were beautiful ones. Hopeful ones. She was lucky like that. She wondered briefly about Ryan’s parents. He’d never said much about them, other than that his father had died when he was fourteen.
That must have been so hard on his mother.
“To love and pineapples,” Sophie whispered as a lone tear streaked down her cheek.
She returned to the front of the stand, and Marietta handed her a sturdy brown paper bag. “Go make a peach pie. It’s always the way to a man’s heart.”
Sophie wasn’t entirely convinced pie was the way to Ryan’s heart, or that she’d ever be able to travel that path in him. But it certainly couldn’t hurt to feed him.
from: Sophiefashionista@gmail.com
to: guywithgreentie@gmail.com
date: July 17, 10:43 AM
subject: Know what’s really exquisite?
My peach pie.
So exquisite you should come over for dinner and dessert, and peaches and me. Friday night?
from: guywithgreentie@gmail.com
to: Sophiefashionista@gmail.com
date: July 17, 10:48 AM
subject: You. Still you.
Yes, and yes, and yes, and yes.
Her phone rang as she turned on the engine in her car.
“Tell me more about these peaches,” he said, and his strong, sexy voice made her belly flip.
“They’re ripe, and juicy, and they taste like sin,” she said, taking her time with each word, letting them fall from her lips like sugar.
“Mmmm,” he said, in a sexy growl. “So just like you, basically?”
“I’ll have to take your word on that.”
“Oh, you can definitely take my word on that.”
“By the way, I fixed my dress, and I cleaned it myself.”
“Aren’t you little Miss Independent? Not even letting me help,” he said, and she could practically see his playful pout.
“Maybe I just wanted to assert myself in that way.”
“Maybe I’ll assert myself by getting you another dress. That one you said you wanted.”
She laughed as she pulled out of the lot. “I highly doubt you would even know where to get one. They are kind of specialty boutique dresses.”
“Oh, you challenge me, woman?” he asked, sounding all over-the-top tough.